“These men cared nothing about what we thought. I know that there was not one of them in that unit who, if given the command, would not have immediately beheaded us.”

Former Special Envoy of the UN, Robert Fowler, kidnapped in December, 2008, in Niger, by an affiliate of al-Qaeda, was the guest of the Canadian Club of Morrisburg and District, on Wednesday, October 17, 2012. A large crowd was on hand.

The former diplomat was Canada’s longest-serving Am-bassador to the United Nations. He acted as foreign policy advisor to three prime ministers and, in 2011, was named Officer of the Order of Canada.

At the time of his abduction, Fowler was posted to Niger as a Special Envoy to Secretary-General, Ban Ki-moon. His task, in the increasingly unstable, desperately poor nation of 18 million, was to try and find a diplomatic resolution to the “low-grade” rebellion of the Taureg people. During three trips into the Taureg territory, he and his colleague, Louis Guay, had convinced the rebels to agree to sit down. What they could not move was the government of then president Mamadou Tandja.

Fowler now believes that Tandja harboured private ambitions to continue to rule Niger, depending on an ongoing state of “civil unrest.” It is Fowler’s stated contention that the president “arranged to send our itinerary to al-Qaeda so that these people could come after us.”

They were ambushed by men armed with Kalashnikovs on a highway well inside the capital region of Niger.

This was the start of a terrifying off-road journey into the desert as the kidnappers fled back to their desolate campsite, ironically nicknamed Camp Canada.

“The commander of our kidnappers, called Omar One by Louis and me, demanded our papers (probably to be sure they had got the right men). Louis produced his passport, but I had absolutely no papers on me. Omar furiously exclaimed that it was illegal to travel in Niger without documents,” Fowler told the audience sardonically.

Every day, the captives lived with the very real fear of being beheaded on camera. Hauled into a tent on two occasions to make videos, Fowler quietly recalled looking around “for plastic. The kidnappers don’t want blood getting on their few possessions.”

The gang ranged in size. But there were never fewer than three rifles aimed at the hostages.

“These were fundamentalists of the most extreme kind. Omar often told us, “We fight to die. You fight to go home to your families. How can we lose?” They were kidnappers and killers, but utterly dedicated to their cause. They absolutely believed in Jihad, absolutely believed that the moment they died, they would sit in paradise by rivers of milk and honey,” Fowler said.

“They exist in a 7th century bubble, but are festooned with 21st century cell phones and weapons. They hate democracy, liberty, freedom.

And any Muslim who espouses a view contrary to theirs is an apostate and should be assassinated.”

Sweltering in 52 degree Celcius heat, deprived of even basic resources, Fowler and Guay struggled to keep up each other’s spirits. They had no idea if anyone was even looking for them.

Fowler later learned that president Blaise Campaoré of Burkina Faso, through his envoy Mustapha Chaffi, had agreed to take on the complex negotiations for their release. (“Ironic,” Fowler commented, “as I had, the year before, called Campaoré an ‘international criminal.’”). Also stepping in to help was Baba Ould Cheikh, envoy of Mali’s president Touré: Cheikh made 11 perilous journeys into the rebel region on behalf of the Canadians.

“The government of Canada swears it did not pay any ransom for us,” Fowler said. “But al-Qaeda does not carry out humanitarian acts, such as releasing hostages. I truly do not know what was paid for us or to whom. Apparently it was ‘enough.’ In a way, I do not want to ever know.”

Finally turned over to the “good guys” after 138 days of captivity, Fowler said that he took five showers and still felt sandy. He also drank three cokes. “But I knew I was truly free when I asked for a beer, in a Moslem country, and eventually someone produced a room temperature LaBatts 50.”

Fowler, who is now with the University of Ottawa, was a riveting and thoughtful speaker. His address obviously struck a strong chord with the audience.

He was asked, at the end, how he and Louis Guay, stayed sane.

“We had these rules,” Fowler explained quietly. “No “what ifs.” No talking about bad stuff after lunch. And, if one of us fell into despair, the other was to haul him out of that pit.”

He seems to have a laid back, comfortable, almost folksy way of talking: yet one soon senses the passion, the wealth of life experiences and the powerful sense of humour hovering just beneath this easy-going surface.

And when a blues man actually picks up his guitar, strums that first chord, and starts to sing, well, like another guitarist once told me, “The blues, the blues is life.”

One of Canada’s greatest blues men is coming to the St. Lawrence Acoustic Stage on Saturday, March 7, at 7 p.m. Harry Manx, known to many as the “Mysticssippi” blues man, the artist who has built a bridge linking the music of East and West, is performing an intimate concert right here in Morrisburg. And fans are clearly overjoyed. Currently, Manx’s concert is sold out, although there is a waiting list.

Harry Manx has dozens of awards and award nominations to his name. He’s a prolific blues artist whose 14th album in 14 years, 20 Strings and Truth, was just released on February 10, 2015.

Manx’s blues style is absolutely unique. He started in the blues clubs of Toronto, playing the slide guitar. Eventually, he studied a number of years with Vishwa Mohan Bhatt, the Indian master who invented the 20 stringed Mohan Veena, now the signature instrument of Harry Manx. Manx’s blending of two disparate approaches to music has resulted in an unrivalled sound, one that deeply appeals to Manx’s legions of fans, and to critics alike.

“What comes out of us musically is what we put into it,” Manx said. “I like many forms of music, but the two styles that make up my true passion are blues and West Indian. Perhaps I might be forcing that relationship,” he laughed, “but I look for the common ground between the two, and I bring them together when I write. The combination of the two seems to really intrigue people. Exotic sound, I suppose you could say.”

Although he was born on the Isle of Man, Manx immigrated to Canada when he was a child. Music took hold of him early on. “It was a kind of intuitive pull,” he said. “I knew even as a child that music was drawing me in. When you pursue music, I believe the whole world opens up to you, and takes you to a lot of places. Of course, I love to travel.” Then he paused and added with a laugh, “Almost as much as I love music. Maybe I took up music just for the opportunity to travel.”

Manx is often described as a definitive Canadian artist. “Like most kids, I grew up with exposure to Canadian music. Gordon Lightfoot was, and still is, a big hero to me. I would say that a kind of Canadian veneer has crept into my music. I find it in my attraction to certain rhythmic styles and notes: that is the Canadiana effect.”

“It’s an interesting thing. You can always hear the musician in the music. When he performs, an artist always tells you something about his nature. His music becomes an insightful tour into the soul of that artist. All his experiences, everything that makes him unique, it’s all revealed the moment he picks up his guitar.”

An intense connection with his listeners lies at the heart of Harry Manx’s music.

“I have a goal to inspire people with my words. I write music in the language of the heart. Emotions and life situations interest me. And I always write of things that actually have had an impact on me: I’m not a fiction writer.”

His twelve years living in India, learning to meditate, studying Eastern music, have coloured his compositions. “When I write, I have to keep my music and words separate. I write poetry, then find the music and marry the two, like two hearts beating as one. You might say I take the maple syrup of words, distill it and find the essence of my song. Performing music is what I fit at, and what feels right. That keeps the passion alive for me. And over the years, touring has helped me get better at my art, I believe. I feel good about how I’m playing now.” He did share one anecdote about those long months on tour, separated from his wife and child.

“I once received this email from my wife saying ‘Don’t forget to miss me.’” He paused. “Never have decided whether that was affection or a threat,” he laughed. “But it did lead me to a song I called Don’t Forget to Miss Me that has become very popular.”

Fans are going to be very glad not to “miss” the Morrisburg concert by the incomparable Harry Manx.

The board of the directors of the SLAS has received some big news. Scotiabank Morrisburg, is partnering with the Stage at the Manx concert March 7, to help with a fund raising event for the Stage. “Bank staff will be present at the show collecting donations for us both before the show and during intermission. Everything collected from the audience members will be matched by the branch,” said board member, Sandra Whitworth. “We’re very excited about this opportunity and very grateful to Scotiabank Morrisburg for offering to support our not-for-profit music series this way.”